


The Playlist

by amarillogrande



Series: Holy Trinity [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Impala Sex, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, POV Alternating, Sexual Content, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Top Dean, just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarillogrande/pseuds/amarillogrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up two years after The Graveyard, Dean visits Cas back in their old town, and just might have a surprise or two up his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished up The Graveyard and couldn’t bear to let this story go. So I hope you want to read about these two idiots as much as I want to write about them.  
> Sorry I can only do gimmicky things.
> 
> Tumblr: [x](http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com)  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is oblivious, Charlie is a little shit, and Sam is the perfect little brother.
> 
>  
> 
> “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.”
> 
> —Bob Marley

xxx

 

_Truckin', I'm a goin' home._

_Whoa whoa baby, back where I belong,  
Back home, sit down and patch my bones,_

_And get back truckin' on._

[Truckin'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pafY6sZt0FE)

 

xxx 

 

Castiel hums a little under his breath as he finishes the design. He holds it up to the light, smiling before he walks over to show it to the client. She pretty much loves it, only suggesting a couple tweaks, and they head up to the front desk to look at good times for appointments, finally settling on next Thursday. Castiel sees her out the door, smiling as it shuts.

Closing time.

He grabs the mop from its place in the corner, giving the floor a quick once over. He’s busy organizing his workstation in the back when a tinkle from the front of the shop indicates someone’s just walked through the door. Castiel groans. 

“Sorry, we’re actually closing,” he starts, heading towards the front room. “But if you want to set up an appointment, we’ll be happy to—“

He stops dead, fixing on the man in the door.

Dean smiles widely.

“Hey, Cas.”

 

Castiel doesn’t even think or hesitate. He’s across the room in a heartbeat, yanking the front of Dean's shirt and practically dragging him in, kissing him for all he’s worth.

Dean. _Dean_. Dean is in his parlor, Dean is smiling at him, that asshole, he didn’t tell Castiel he was coming—

There’s a cough from behind his shoulder, and Castiel comes back to reality, realizing they’re not exactly alone.

 

Sam’s standing behind Dean, his face twisted, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

“Jeez, guys,” he mumbles. “Get a room.”

 

Castiel goes red.

“Oh—oh my god.”

He steps back a little, grimacing in apology. “I'm sorry, Sam.”

Sam scoffs, still not looking at them.

“It’s okay.” He sighs dramatically. “I’ll just close my eyes ‘til you’re done.”

Dean laughs and steps back a little for his brother’s sake, but seems unwilling to completely disentangle himself from Castiel, keeping a hand on his waist.

“It’s chill, Sammy. Only PG rated from here on out, promise.”

Castiel elbows Dean, clearing his throat before turning to Sam.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly, raising his hand in a sort of half-wave.

Sam completely ignores that pitiful hello and pulls Castiel in for a hug, squeezing every last bit of air out of his lungs. Castiel laughs and returns it, clapping him on the shoulder as they part.

“How are you, Sam? How’s school?”

“Good, good! Only got one year left—“

Castiel listens and laughs as Sam fills him on everything, all about Stanford and his upcoming law school applications, which Castiel is actually interested about, but Dean’s hand is creeping lower and lower, and Castiel is suddenly having a very hard time concentrating.

He tries to focus on Sam’s voice, getting the two-minute version of everything that’s passed since he saw him last—hell, when was it? Castiel thinks it was back when he and Dean were still in college, Jesus—

Dean’s fingers slip under the edge of his shirt, and Castiel whirls swiftly, startling the both of them. He flashes Sam a brief smile.

“Sorry for this.”

Before either of them have a chance to react, Castiel turns and punches Dean squarely on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That was for not telling me you were coming, dick,” Castiel says, crossing his arms.

Once he gets over the shock, Sam starts laughing hysterically, and Dean grumbles, rubbing his shoulder.

“ _Dude_.”

“Seriously, would it kill you to use a telephone?”

Dean scowls but steps forward, curling his fingers around his tie.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” he murmurs. He slips a hand around Castiel’s waist and Sam huffs loudly, hastily walking away. He starts to examine the parlor, meandering around, looking at the various pictures and sketches on the wall.

Castiel tries to resist, but Dean tugs on the tie a little, giving him that look, and Castiel gives up. He slips his hands around his neck and Dean pulls him in, lips parting in a gentler kiss this time, soft and cool.

Castiel pulls back a little, smiling slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” Dean says back, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Well, _hello._ ”

 

They break apart, and Castiel sees Charlie in the doorway, an impossibly wide grin on her face.

Fuck, Round 2.

She’s standing there, messenger bag slung over her shoulder and sunglasses perched on her head, absolutely beaming at the pair of them. Castiel immediately puts a more respectable distance between him and Dean, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Charlie, um—“

He jerks his head to indicate the man beside him.

“This is Dean.”

If it’s possible, her smile somehow gets wider.

“Oh my god.”

 

She hurries to set her stuff on her chair, turning to face the two of them again, eagerly clasping her hands and leaning across the counter.

“The infamous Dean Winchester.”

Dean blushes a little, tousling up his hair.

“Guess my reputation proceeds me.”

Charlie smirks at him. “Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

Castiel swallows quickly and barges in before Charlie says anything embarrassing that would provide Dean with ammunition for the next six months.

“Dean, this is Charlie. Best boss and friend anyone could ask for. And obviously, Charlie—Dean,” he finishes, gesturing.

He’s told both of them so much about the other, it now feels weird that they’re finally standing in the same room.

Dean raises a hand. “Hi.”

“Hell-oooo,” Charlie responds, leering.

Castiel sees it coming and really wants to strangle her.

 

“So,” she continues. “This is Dean.” She looks him up and down, flashing a devilish look at Castiel.

“Well. Cas said you were hot, but… _damn_.”

The couple times Dean had been around the studio, Charlie had always been gone—on a convention or errand or something, but Castiel’s glad they’re finally getting a chance to meet.

Or maybe not.

 

Dean throws him a look.

“Cas said what now?” he asks, a dangerous glint in his eye.

Charlie props her chin on her hand, lips curling mischievously.

“Well, you know.” She glances over at Castiel. “He just goes on and on and _on_ about you all the time—“

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Charlie barrels on.

“Barely can get his work done sometimes, it’s just Dean this, and Dean that—“

Dean starts laughing, shoulders shaking a little, and Castiel scowls.

“Charlie,” he says sweetly, placing his hands on the counter. “Shut up.”

 

“Nope,” she replies cheerfully. “Boyfriend test first.”

 

Castiel grumbles halfheartedly under his breath, about to shoot some sort of snarky response back at her, but Dean stomps on his foot, and Castiel doubles over, cursing. Charlie ignores him, settling into interrogation mode. And even though she’s a petite woman nearly a half-foot shorter than the man she’s talking to, she’s definitely bringing the intimidation.

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. Dean immediately sobers, putting on his serious face.

“Fave Star Wars movie,” she starts, that smile challenging and sweet all at once.

“Empire. Easy.” Dean fires back. “Next.”           

She raises an eyebrow. “Star Trek?”

“Original series. Can’t beat Shatner,” Dean says smoothly, giving her the smile right back. She pauses a little, then starts in on the rapid-fire round.

“Bond, Indiana Jones, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter—“

Castiel finally recovers and reaches over to smack Charlie on the shoulder.

“Dude. Stop.”

“Dr. No, Raiders, Return of the King, Prisoner of Azkaban,” Dean rattles off perfectly. Both Castiel and Charlie look at him, Charlie sort of faintly amused, Castiel still determined to head off any extreme secondhand embarrassment. Charlie eyes Dean again, but this time it’s fond and appreciative. She seems impressed.

“Okay, we’re good,” she says, nodding. “Your boy’s officially nerd enough.”

Castiel scoffs.

“So he could be a complete psycho, but as long as he can quote Monty Python word for word, he passes the test?”

She shrugs.

“It’s not a perfect system.”

Castiel just scowls at the both of them.

“Soooo, Cas.”

Dean leans his elbows on the counter too, and the two of them smile at him like identical twins, or peas in a pod, or maybe something sent out of his own personal circle of Hell.

“About that hotness thing…”

Castiel mutters under his breath, something about embarrassing bosses and boyfriends and how to dispose of a body—

Charlie laughs.

“Aw, come on, Cas. I’m sure Dean would love to hear all about how you moon after him.” She glances over at Dean, nudging him with her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you, Dean?”

She positively beams in response to Castiel staring daggers, while Dean fights to keep back his laughter.

He knew it. One time…well. One time Charlie got him absolutely wasted on Long Islands, and they somehow managed to land on the topic of Dean, and Castiel and his loose lips started gushing all about the stupid Winchester and some of his most choice—uh—physical attributes. Castiel knew it would come back to bite him in the ass.

And that hangover had been one for the record books.

 

“Oh, most definitely,” Dean says, his face glowing with the imitation of sincerity. Castiel wants to smack the both of them.

Dean straightens and sticks out a hand. Charlie mirrors him, shaking it enthusiastically.

“I’m getting the feeling that we should be best friends,” she says, beaming.

Castiel crosses his arms, glaring at them.

“You two done?”

They just collapse into laughter, and Castiel deliberately huffs, turning away. But Dean darts forward and seizes his hand, dragging him back to whisper in his ear.

“C’mon, Cas,” he murmurs dangerously. He nips at his skin, and Castiel inhales sharply, shooting him a look. They weren’t exactly alone, Jesus—

But Dean seems to remember himself and pulls back a little, giving him that infuriatingly perfect smile. He still doesn’t let go of his hand.

 

Charlie apparently decides she’s done teasing and settles into a genuine laugh, twining her fingers into her red hair, swooping it up into a messy bun.

“Well, in all honesty, it’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

He smiles. “You too.”

Dean winks at him, nudging Castiel gently. He pokes him with his foot.

Charlie deliberately ignores their less-than-obvious flirting and finally notices Sam, who finished his circuit of the shop and has come to tower over Dean’s shoulder. She drops her hands, eyes widening a little as she takes in his full height.

“And, uh…this is…?”

Dean wraps an arm around Sam, pulling him forward.

“My little brother, Sammy.”

“Sam, actually,” he says, giving Dean a look. “But hi.”

She nods at the two of them, biting back a laugh.

“Well. Con-grat-u-lations on your genes.”

Sam immediately turns bright red, and Castiel groans loudly.

“Seriously, Charlie,” he mutters. “Can you try to not flirt with everyone that walks through the door?”

Sam is mumbling something under his breath, something that sounds like, _sorry,_ and _uh, I have a girlfriend_ —

“Don’t worry,” Castiel says. “Charlie does too.”

 

Dean and Sam blink at them for a moment, and now it’s Castiel’s turn to laugh. He turns to Charlie and plants his hands on her shoulders, shooing her back towards the front desk.

“Okay, go away. Sooner you get all the money stuff sorted, sooner we can get out of here.”

Charlie smacks his hand away, and Castiel shakes his head, debating whether or not this whole experience earns her an elaborate prank. He turns, intending to head back over to the brothers, but Charlie catches the back of his shirt, pulling him in briefly.

“He’s great, Cas. Really.” She glances at the two of them, and then laughs. “Both of them are.”

Castiel softens, and doesn’t even roll his eyes at her when she holds a fist out. He humors her and bumps it, but then grabs her before she can resist, sweeping her under his arm and kissing the top of her head. Charlie grumbles half-heartedly at him, ducking and retreating back to the safety of the counter. She raises her hands in a shooing motion.

“Okay, now _you_ go away. You see me all the time. Go kiss or something.”

Castiel flips her off. She just sticks her tongue out at him.

 

Castiel laughs, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair as he heads back over to the Winchesters.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use some dinner.”

Dean pipes up. “Amen to that. I’m starving.”

He drapes an arm over Castiel’s shoulder as soon as he’s by his side, tugging him in. “Didn’t get a chance to eat at the airport,” he says, scratching lightly at his arm.

Castiel frowns.

“I don’t want to be rude or anything—“

“Says everyone right before saying something rude—“

Castiel pinches his side, just to make him shut up, continuing. “But really, why are you here?”

He’s genuinely curious. Not that he didn’t want to see Dean. Seriously, if Castiel had his way, he’d never have to spend a day without seeing his stupid face. It’s just the fact that it’s June and it’s a slow summer, and Castiel had already gone to New York a couple months before. They weren’t exactly made of money, and plane tickets are expensive. So this visit was slightly unexplained and unprompted, and Castiel is confused.

“Also—why did you drag along Sam with you? Lawrence ain’t that exciting,” he finishes, winking at him. Sam laughs, but doesn’t answer, just shrugging.

Dean straightens, reaching out and finding the edge of Castiel’s sleeve, tugging at it.

“Well, when you told me you passed your test, I had to come down and see for myself.” He leans in. “Make sure they didn’t give it to you by accident.”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

Charlie pipes up from behind the cash register, completely shattering the illusion that she’s not listening in on their conversation.

“Oh no. Cas is one of my best.” She flashes him a quick smile. “Everyone’s gonna be lining up to have an appointment with him, just you wait.”

Castiel bites down on his lip, trying not to preen at that, but Dean catches his gaze, looking at him with a sort of beautiful reverence.

 _Told you_ , his eyes seem to say.

Castiel looks away quickly, smiling. He swallows and tugs on Dean’s hand, inclining his head, indicating the two should follow.

“Well, if you’re done antagonizing me,” he says lightly, “I’ll show you.”

They head towards the back of the shop.

“Besides, it certainly took you long enough.”

Castiel’s had his license for a while now, working on building up a client list, which to his eternal surprise, was continuously growing. People were starting to notice Charlie’s place, coming from all over, farther and farther each day.

And now the Winchesters, from both coasts. Castiel smiles a little as he watches the two of them, Sam shuffling after his brother, tall and gangly, and Dean sauntering forward, hands in his pockets. So similar, and so different.

Dean huffs.

“Dude. We had to find a time when Sammy was out of school and I could get some time off.” He elbows him. “A lot of planning went into this, Cas. Try and appreciate it.”

Castiel kicks him right back, smiling. Sam lets out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head.

 

They reach the back of the parlor, and Castiel gestures towards the wall where his license is hanging, proudly framed.

“Here it is.”

Dean smiles at him and gives him a squeeze. Sam leans in closer, squinting at the tiny printed type.

“James Novak?” He reads, looking up at him questioningly. Dean stifles a laugh and Castiel scratches his head, sighing impatiently.

“My first name. I hate it,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But, unfortunately, you gotta go with the legalities.”

Sam chuckles at that, but nods, admiring it appreciatively. Dean slips his hand around Castiel’s waist, leaning into him.

“Looks great, Cas,” he says proudly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Sam continues.

“Funny. Out of all the conversations me and Dean have had about you, you’d think the fact that your first name is ‘James’ would come up.”

Castiel slowly turns to Dean, a smug smile crossing his face.

“Ohhhh, okay.” He crosses his arms. “So who’s talking about who now?”

Dean tries to save face. “Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “You’re awesome. Of course I want to brag about you.”

 

He sees Cas flush at that, and grins.

“But okay. Really. You wanna know why we’re here?” Dean starts, reaching out to mess up his hair. Cas catches his wrist just in time, looking at him curiously.

Dean shrugs. “We’ve finally worked up the courage.”

Cas frowns, tilting his head to the side. Dean knows that look, but continues anyway, keeping his voice light.

“Me and Sammy wanna get matching tattoos.”

Cas goes still, those blue eyes wide and searching.

Dean waits, but a soft stuttered “What?” is all that comes out. He laughs.

“Tattoos, Cas. They’re these designs you put into your skin, made out of ink and a lot of pain, I expect—“

“You want—“

Cas can’t finish the sentence. He’s just staring at the pair of them, his face blank. Dean sees Sam frown, a little worried at Castiel’s dumbstruck expression. But Dean just rolls his eyes, dipping in close.

“Chill, Cas.” He touches his arm softly. “We really do want you to do them. And none of that ‘I’m not good enough crap’—“

Cas opens his mouth, about to protest, but Dean cuts him off.

“Yeah, no. None of that shit, because first of all, you know it’s not true, and secondly, it’s the reason we came all the way out to damn Kansas in the first place—“

“But I—“

Cas falters, not sure what to say. He looks up into Dean’s eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks softly, his voice small.

Dean doesn’t hesitate for a second.

“Damn right, we’re sure.”

He settles his hands on Cas’s shoulders, trying to ward off the incoming panic attack.

“Cas, it’s okay.”

Cas swallows, bringing a hand up to wrap around his wrist. Dean tries to smile.

“Come on, Cas,” he murmurs. “For me.”

“It’s just—“

Cas shakes his head.

“It’s…it’s permanent, Dean.” He says, closing his eyes. Dean can feel the stillness in his frame, the tension in his shoulders, and he tries to joke.

“Yeah, dude, that’s kinda in the description of a tattoo—“

“I’m serious!” Cas snaps.

Dean quiets. He sees Sam shift awkwardly behind them, and Dean bites his lip, cursing himself.

_You could have at least warned him._

He quickly tugs Cas aside, dipping his head down to try and meet his eyes. But Cas stubbornly refuses to look up.

Dean sighs. Maybe this wasn’t the best thing to spring on him. Cas’s confidence in his skills had never been the highest, even if Dean constantly tells him he’s the best out there.

“Dean. Really.” Cas looks nauseous. “I—I don’t know—“

“Hey.”

Dean stops his wild scrambling, bringing a hand up to his cheek.

“Stop freaking out, okay?” He tries to keep the humorous note out of his voice as he attempts to calm Cas down.

“We want this, Cas,” he murmurs softly. “We want you to.”

Dean drops his voice low.

“I want you to.”

Cas swallows heavily, speechless. Dean rubs a soothing hand over his skin.

“It’s just a tattoo, Cas,” he murmurs quietly, pulling him in for a gentle hug.

“It’s only forever,” he whispers into his ear.

Dean can feel him return the grip, chest shaking a little with the effort to hold back a nervous laugh. Dean clings to him, burying himself in his warmth.

They had already made the promise of forever. Why should this be any different?

 

Cas finally seems to realize where they are, and the extremely awkward situation they’ve put Sam through. They glance over to see him staring determinedly out the window.

Cas sighs.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Dean looks at him, smiling wide.

“What was that?”

Cas shakes his head at him, scowling.

“ _Okay_ ,” he says again, giving him that adorable not-quite-angry glare.

“But don’t you dare pull this kinda shit on me again, asshole.”

Dean can’t help it, he starts laughing, which gets Cas even more pissed off, and he growls, continuing to rant at him.

“Seriously, I think at least two weeks’ notice is preferable, with the whole ‘sticking something permanent in your significant other’s skin’—“

“Yeah, don’t think they have a greeting card for that one.”

“Dean Winchester, I swear to God—“

Sam immediately intervenes, pulling his little brother pout, breaking up the tension.

“Sorry, Cas. This was all Dean’s idea.”

Dean scoffs indignantly at him. “Was not—“

“And, seriously, I am really sorry that you’re stuck with this nearsighted idiot who didn’t realize this was actually kind of a big deal—“

“Nearsighted, screw you, you’re the one with fucking contacts—“

“You know what I mean, dick—“

 

Castiel can’t help himself, especially when Sam practically tackles Dean and has him pinned before he knows it—and all three of them are laughing hysterically as Charlie shakes her head at them, all fears and tensions about the tattoo gone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Impala gets steamy.
> 
>  
> 
> “If music be the food of love, play on.”
> 
> —William Shakespeare

xxx

 

_See my baby, tell her, tell her hurry home_

_Had no lovin’, since my baby been gone_

_See my baby, tell hurry on home_

_I ain’t had, Lord, my right mind, since my rider’s been gone_

 

[Traveling Riverside Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1JAhFAQigY)

 

xxx

 

Dean had left the Impala with Castiel, partly because he didn’t have a car of his own, but mostly because Dean really didn’t need one to get around in New York City, and parking rates are a bitch. So he practically runs outside when they leave the parlor, finding her immediately and draping over it, a stupid grin crossing his face.

“Ahhh,” he groans. My baby girl.”

He places a hand to the hood, taking in the sight of her briefly before kneeling down and checking the tires.

The two of them follow, and Castiel nudges Sam, smirking.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if he misses me or the car more.”

Dean runs his hands over the gleaming black metal, nodding his head.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Definitely the car.”

Castiel huffs, but he can’t help but smile as Dean continues to gush over the Impala. The eternal love affair of Dean and this damn car, Castiel doesn’t think he’ll ever really understand.

Dean glances up sharply.

“You getting her washed regularly?”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Dean.”

“And waxed? And vacuuming her out every once in a while—”

“Jesus, fuck, yes.” Castiel crosses his arms. “You think I’d dare risk your wrath?”

Dean ignores his jibe and just continues to worship his car, practically purring.

Sam groans.

“Dude.”

He walks up, poking Dean in the back with his foot.

“Can you leave this really weird fetish of yours for later? I’m starving.”

Dean scowls at him, but quickly pops up, pointing an accusing finger at Castiel.

“Keys. Now.”

Castiel digs them out of his pocket and tosses them to him. Dean snatches them from the air and grins, unlocking the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. Castiel and Sam exchange a look.

Then both of them bolt, scrambling, shoving and pushing at each other.

 

“You get to drive it all the time, let me sit in the front—“

“Fuck you, no way—“

Dean ignores them, turning the key and nodding stupidly as he feels the rumble of the engine beneath him.

Sam finally uses his ridiculous gigantic size to shove Castiel back and snag shotgun, and Castiel scowls as Sam slams the door, grinning triumphantly at him through the window.

“Fucking Winchesters,” he grumbles under his breath.

He walks around the side of the car, regulated to the back. But he supposes it’s not all bad, because now he can kick Dean through his seat every so often, every time claiming it was an accident.

“You’re a damn sore loser, Cas,” he laughs, as Castiel nudges him for the fourth or fifth time.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean reaches a hand back and smacks at him, and Castiel sulkily retreats, leaning back against the leather. He wants to hang onto his pout as long as he can, but with the two brothers bickering happily back and forth in the front seat, he can’t manage it for long. Because Sam and Dean were here. Two of his favorite people, and Castiel can’t help but smile.

 

They finally slide into the parking lot of one of their old haunts, and Dean slaps his hands on the steering wheel.

“Fuck yes, Roadhouse. I am so in need of a damn decent burger.”

Sam opens the passenger side door, unfolding his gangly limbs from the small front seat.

“I’m sure New York has about ten thousand burger joints, all way better quality then this.”

Dean scoffs, pulling Cas under his arm as they walk up to the door.

“No way. Nobody does a burger quite like Ellen.”

Sam pulls open the door, and they follow him, Dean dipping down close to Cas’s ear.

“Y’know, I kinda had a crush on Jo back in college.”

Cas pokes him.

“I’m pretty sure everyone did,” he says, following Sam as he starts talking to the lady up front, asking for a table of three.

“Yeah, but she liked me back,” Dean says smugly.

 

He leaves Cas with a scowl on his face, trawling off after Sam. He’s almost to the counter when there’s a hand on his shirt collar, yanking him back. Dean chokes in surprise as Cas kisses him deeply, just shy of dirty enough to be kicked out.

They part, breathless, and Dean blinks dazedly.

“What was that for?” He asks slowly, still seeing stars.

Cas tugs at his shirt.

“You’re mine,” he growls. Sam starts off towards their table, and Cas pulls back, an arrogant smirk on his face. He winks and starts to follow them, but Dean isn’t going to let him get off so easy.

He grabs Cas’s elbow and jerks him in, teeth scraping at the exposed skin of his neck.

“And so are you,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around his hips. Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean sees the back of his neck flush red. Dean grins in triumph.

They separate quickly and head to their table, innocent as you please, Cas hastily readjusting his clothes. Dean fights back a laugh, sliding in next to Sam at the booth.

A little inconvenient, seeing as he can’t fuck with Cas as much, but now he gets to stare at his dumb perfect face all of dinner, watching him furrow his brow as he stares at the menu, as he chews at the straw in his water, and how he finally sinks in relief when his beer arrives.

“Ugh, finally.”

Sam snorts. “Long day?”

Castiel takes a deep pull from his glass, sighing and settling happily back in his seat.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

Dean laughs with him, used to Cas’s rants about the idiocies of his job. But he knows it’s just because Cas needs to vent. Cas lives and breathes his work, and for all his ‘complaints’, Dean knows he’d never want to do anything else.

Dean props his hand up on his chin, smiling at him. Cas sees the look and returns it, hooking his ankle under the table.

“Is that really what’s it like, seeing all these college kids from the other side?” Sam asks, stabbing his fork enthusiastically into one of his many salads, even though Dean told him there were way better things on the menu.

Cas rolls his eyes. He had just finished telling them a story about a hissy frat boy who had done nothing but nag Cas all day.

“Pretty much. Bunch of teenagers with newly-found freedom, what can you expect? They all come in wanting ‘faith’, and ‘carpe diem’, and ‘never give up’…shit like that,” he scoffs, unconsciously rubbing the pattern on his forearm. “And always in Chinese, or some other foreign language. Half of the time it’s spelled wrong, or just completely, unbelievably wrong.”

Dean snorts, twirling his beer bottle in his hands, but Sam is gaping.

“Dude. You speak—“

Dean cuts him off.

“Hey. At this point, I’ve learned to just accept it. Cas studies that kinda stuff just for fun.”

Sam is in full-on nerdgasm awe.

“Wow.”

Cas is smirking, and Dean huffs at his self-satisfied expression.

“Okay, but actually. Is there anything you’re not fluent in?” He leans an elbow on the table, squinting at him. “Seriously, Cas. What don’t you speak?”

“Hawaiian,” Cas deadpans, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s fucking with him or not.

Sam jumps back in.

“So—these kids with the typos. You ever tell them?”

Cas smiles devilishly.

“The polite ones,” he answers, eyes twinkling. Dean kicks him under the table.

“Asshole.”

Cas just grins back.

“Well, hey there, strangers.”

 

They turn quickly to see Ellen standing there, hands on her hips and a wide smile on her face. Dean’s face lights up and he jumps up to hug her, Cas following suit. They introduce her to Sam, and she smiles at him warmly.

“Finally! The other Winchester boy. Hello, Sam.”

He greets her shyly, and Cas opens his mouth, about to ask her something, when Ellen reaches out and smacks the both of them upside the head.

“What the—“

“Dude—“ Dean sputters.

Ellen flips her bar rag over her shoulder, freeing up her arms to cross judgmentally at them.

“That was for not droppin’ me a line every once in a while. This one, I understand,” she says, jerking her head at Dean. “But James Castiel Novak—“

She fixes him with a stern stare. “You live maybe 25 minutes away, and I want to start seeing your ass in one of those barstools more often. Understood?”

Sam bursts out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth. Cas’s cheeks burn, and he dips his head.

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaks out. Ellen nods, satisfied that Cas is thoroughly scolded. She pats Dean on the shoulder.

“My girl was talking about you the other day. Said you were comin’ into town.”

Cas looks up quickly from his embarrassed funk at that, giving Dean an extremely Sam-like bitchface.

“Dude—what? Did _everyone_ know except for me?”

Dean ignores him.

“Yeah, had dinner with her last week.”

Ellen frowns, quickly sliding into Mom voice.

“Well, you take care of her. I get worried about you kids. ‘Specially up in that noisy mess they call a city.”

Dean laughs. “Honestly, I think she’ll be the one taking care of me. Seems like she’s getting a new knife every day.”

Sam’s eyes kind of bug out at that one, but Dean just waves a hand.

“Jo’s a chef. Some fancy four-star place.”

Ellen pulls the rag from her shoulder, absentmindedly wiping her hands on it.

“Hmmph. Don’t understand why the girl’s gotta go all the way to New York when I got a perfectly good kitchen in the back.”

Cas laughs, but Dean is chewing his lip, thinking.

“Hey, Ellen. Does Ash still live in that house on Greenwood?”

Ellen laughs. “Yeah, you know Ash. Don’t think he’ll ever leave that dump.” She looks over her shoulder. “Too bad, you caught him on his night off. Still shows up, despite all the times I’ve fired him.”

Dean snorts, but nods gratefully.

“Cool. Was thinking of visiting.”

 

They chat for a little while, but eventually they're interrupted by the arrival of their food. Ellen smiles at them, rapping her knuckles on the table.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair. And beer’s on me, boys.” She points at Sam, then Dean. “Say hi to that Uncle Bobby of yours, alright?”

 

Ellen heads off to the bar and Cas smiles after her, but Dean immediately dives on top of his burger, practically moaning around his first mouthful. Sam watches in a sort of horrified fascination.

“Wow, Dean. You’d think you were born in a barn.”

Dean glances up bluntly, seeing that after the salad, Sam managed to get an entrée that looked like it was somehow—if it was even possible—composed of even more vegetables.

Dean takes another bite.

“Shu’ up. ’m bithy.”

Cas laughs, leaning forward to steal a french fry off of Dean’s plate.

“Hey!”

“Consider it part of my tip for the tattoos,” he says, smiling. But Dean and Sam both suddenly seem uneasy. Cas frowns.

“You guys _are_ sure about this, right?”

Dean swallows, answering quickly. “’Course we’re sure. It’s just uh…”

He glances at Sam, then back at Cas.

“Well. Terrifying.”

Cas snorts.

“You’re telling me.”

It was a joke, but Dean can hear the slight edge of reproach behind it, and he feels another twinge of guilt. He really should apologize when he gets a chance. Again.

Sam speaks up.

“I looked into it, briefly, I mean, not that I don’t trust you, Cas, but all my research warned of the pain factor, and—“

Dean groans.

“Jesus Christ, Sam, shut up.”

Sam frowns at him.

“I’m trying to prepare you, Dean. I know how you are with needles.”

“Vaccinations suck,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Sam leans towards Cas.

“Bobby always loves to tell us about the time when a nurse tried to give Dean a shot and he almost gave her a black eye.”

Dean grumbles.

“Dude, I was like five years old.”

Cas sneaks a couple more fries, shrugging slightly.

“Well…sorry. This will a be a little bit different than a shot.”

Dean frowns.

“Yeah. I know.” He picks at his food. “Just freaking out every time I think about it, is all.”

Cas knocks his knee against Dean’s under the table, smiling at him.

“I think you just need to _relax_ ,” he says, winking. Sam is oblivious, but Dean swallows, meeting Cas’s piercing gaze.

“Yeah,” he breathes, smiling. “I think I could do that.”

 

xxx

_That’s all I got to say_

_Can’t think of a better way_

_And that’s all I’ve got to say_

_I love you, is that okay?_

[These Words](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5RuGj0g1tk)

 

(“Why the hell is this on here?”

“Shut up, you totally like this song.”)

 

xxx

 

They drop Sam off, and Castiel drags Dean back to the studio, under the pretense of starting the design, but he really just wants to show off. He gives him a tour of the dark studio, and Dean is silent for most of it, listening to Castiel speak, holding his hand.

Castiel eventually drags him to the back room, and finally, Dean pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and shows him the design.

It’s pretty simple actually, a sort of pentagram that any artist could have handled, but the fact Dean wants him to do sends shivers down his back. Castiel’s not sure if it’s from fear or excitement.

Dean lays the scrunched up paper on Castiel’s table, smoothing out the corners.

“We used to pretend a lot—back when we were kids.”

Castiel sits down as Dean talks, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“All kinds of stuff, the usual superheroes, TV, movies…”

His hand comes to rest on Castiel’s shoulder as he talks.

“But Sammy’s favorite was when we were fighting monsters.”

He takes a deep breath.

“And…well, you know…”

He stops briefly, closing his eyes.

“With Mom…gone, and Dad always off drinking, or god knows what…”

Castiel squeezes him reassuringly. Dean sighs.

“I did anything I could to make him feel better. Safe.”

Dean sits down next to him, watching as Castiel pulls out a spare piece of paper and his pen.

“And, uh, one time at the library, kid found this book. All kinds of symbols in it.”

Dean puts the sigil-like drawing next to Castiel’s blank piece of paper.

“Used to draw it on each other in Sharpie.” He laughs. “It’s supposed to ward off evil.”

Castiel smiles, drawing his hand away to center the sketch, mentally planning it in his head.

Dean shrugs. “Seems kind of stupid, I know, but—“

“Not at all,” Castiel says, smiling up at him briefly. “I think it’ll look great.”

Dean hooks an arm around his waist as Castiel uncaps his pen, whispering in his ear.

“Thought I wasn’t cool enough to pull it off.”

Castiel gives him a quick kiss. “You still aren’t.”

Dean chuckles against his neck, pulling him in tighter.

 

Castiel takes his sketch and starts on a bigger version, what the final design will look like, even though Dean is being extremely distracting.

He’s kissing his shoulder as Castiel works, humming into his skin and being just all around a complete dick, but Castiel finally manages to finish. He gestures toward the table behind him, standing up and eyeing the drawing in the light.

“Take off your shirt, ‘kay?”

Dean hops up onto the table and Castiel walks over, sketch in hand, tapping his chest to get him to straighten up. Castiel lays steady hands on his skin, aligning the drawing.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs. Dean meets his eyes, and Castiel nearly abandons all attempts at being professional and nearly tackles him right there.

Dean looks at the design resting over the left side of his chest, pressing a hand to Castiel’s own. He doesn’t say anything. He just touches him, covering his fingers gently. Castiel swallows.

“I could probably start on this whenever you’re ready,” he blurts. But he doesn’t move.

“We’ve got a pretty full schedule the next couple of days so we might have to stay after hours,” he says quickly, trying to slide into a business-like tone. “Even could do it tonight, if you want to call Sam—“

Dean cuts off his babbling with a dangerous look, slipping his hands over Castiel’s back and down his waist, his eyes dark.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I think not.”

Castiel holds his breath. Dean smirks, that smile devilishly beautiful.

“Because I don’t want this to hurt.”

 

He seizes his hips and yanks him in, mouth finding his own and kissing him hard. Castiel drops the paper and slots in between his legs, groaning as Dean brings them flush, thrusting up against him from his sitting position on the table.

“God, I fucking missed you,” Castiel groans, circling his arms around his neck.

Dean chuckles darkly, slipping his hands down to the curve of his ass.

“Me too,” he whispers, squeezing him gently, biting at Castiel’s chest through the cotton of his shirt. Castiel drags his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes.

They move together for a few breathless moments, but then Dean seizes his collar and drags him down, whispering harshly.

“Come on, Cas, come on—“

Castiel returns the kiss, breathing hard.

“Here?”

Dean thrusts up against him eagerly. “Yeah, yeah—fuck—“ He tries to pull Castiel into his lap. “Need you—“

Castiel kisses him willingly, but the stickler inside him rebels, trying to pull away.

“This is—“

He gasps. “This is breaking all kinds of laws about sanitation—“

Dean huffs out an impatient sound against his skin, but finally sinks back, tugging at his hand.

“Alright. Come on.”

Dean yanks him outside to the alleyway where the Impala is parked, both of them laughing and fumbling as they look around to see if anyone is watching. Dean drags him in and presses him up against the side of the car, and they forget about the outside world for a moment. But finally Dean manages to break away from Castiel’s mouth and get the passenger door open, digging in the glove compartment. Castiel watches breathlessly as Dean surfaces with the lube he keeps there and shoves him into the backseat, tossing the bottle in beside him.

“Been too damn long—“

Castiel drags him down and Dean kisses him, thrusting hard against his thigh, already gasping for breath. He snarls his hands up in Dean’s hair, groaning as his hips grind against his own, hot and perfect. Dean slips a hand down and doesn’t waste any time, shoving his zipper down and getting a hand into his pants, jacking him slowly. Castiel’s breath hitches and he thrusts up into his fist, tipping his head back as he lets Dean work him over with his tongue and fingers, sliding sticky and hot.

“God, _fuck_ , Dean—“

Dean chuckles against his neck, voice growling out against him.

“You like that?”

Castiel just groans as an answer, twisting closer into his touch. Dean circles his other arm around him, murmuring into his skin.

“So hot, Cas,” he breathes, grinding against him. “So fuckin’ hot—“

Dean bites and sucks barely-there marks into his skin, and Castiel lets out a sound which is definitely  _not_ a whimper. _  
_

He huffs in protest as Dean pulls away, nipping at his skin and teasing him with feather-light touches, and Castiel decides he’s done with the gentleness.

He grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him against the seat, climbing into his lap.

“Fuck me, Winchester.”

Dean curls a hand around his neck, a hard possessive grip, those eyes wide and dark.

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathes.

“I want you to take me apart,” Castiel whispers, letting his breath just skim Dean’s lips, his skin, his neck, and Dean visibly shudders, thrusting up, trying to get friction against his leg.

“Want you,” Castiel murmurs. “Fuckin’ missed you so much, just jacking off to your voice isn’t enough, so come _on_ —“

Dean snarls and yanks him down, effectively shutting him up with sloppy and heavy kisses, panting into his mouth.

They last for a couple minutes, but finally just snap, separating awkwardly in the cramped backseat, shoving clothes aside, clumsy hands reaching out to try and touch each other. But finally they’re naked, naked enough, and Castiel straddles him again, grinding down on his lap. Dean barely gives him any warning before he slips a hand down and starts to work him open with slick fingers. Castiel jerks forward, gasping a little in surprise.

“You—“ He starts, fighting back a groan. “You are an impatient thing, Dean Winchester,” he gasps, rocking back and forth, faster now.

Dean grins, dragging him down to kiss him again.

“Can’t help it, Cas,” he murmurs. “You make me crazy, you always do.” He crooks his fingers and Castiel bites down on his lip, soaking up Dean’s words.

“Goin’ out of my mind without you,” Dean whispers.

Castiel moans appreciatively, tucking his head in close to Dean’s neck. He vaguely realizes the windows are all steamed up—and Castiel wonders briefly if someone will come by to investigate, if they’ll get caught—and he’ll end up in one of the most embarrassing situations of his life.

But then Dean’s other hand wraps around his cock, and he stops thinking.

Dean loosely pumps his fist around him, biting at his ear.

“Good?” He breathes. “You want this? You want more?”

Castiel hisses, arching his spine.

“Fuck, yes,” he sighs. “Know you got it, c’mon.”

Dean growls and slips another finger into him, and Castiel jerks up hard, his breath coming hard and short.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Don’t know how long I wanted to see that.”

Castiel smiles in a sort of heady triumph, his eyes drooping closed.

 

Dean slides easily inside him, stretching him apart with a perfect hot burn. He shifts a little, trying to keep up the movements and lean up to kiss him at the same time, but he awkwardly slips, and Castiel almost falls off him.

He jerks back up dazedly, smacking his shoulder.

“Keep still.”           

Dean huffs, a hand drifting up to find his cheek. Castiel obliges him and bends down until their faces are level.

“Fuck you,” he murmurs softly. “I’m trying to be fucking romantic, here, Cas.”

Castiel laughs against his lips, rolling against him.

“You’re—“ He kisses him in between words. “You’re the one who decided on backseat sex.” He groans. “And—and this is difficult enough without you wriggling all over the place—“

Dean grabs his hips firmly and thrusts up against him. Castiel inhales sharply, planting his hands against the seat for balance.

“You really need to stop talking, Cas,” Dean growls, his lips finding his ear. Castiel moans some sort of agreement and sinks back down. Dean hums and prints love into his neck, murmuring quietly into his skin.

The press of Dean inside him is good—way too good—and Castiel arches, his body sparking with the feeling. But he needs more.

Castiel fumbles, grasping for his wrist.

“Come on, Dean. Come on,” he hushes out, tugging at his arm.

Dean sucks in a breath, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, yeah—“

He scrambles so he can position himself, supporting Castiel as he sinks down onto Dean’s cock, settling around him. Castiel hisses a little as he adjusts to the sensation, but it has been _way_ too long. He needs this.

Dean watches him the whole time, stroking a hand up his side.

“You okay?” He asks softly, shifting gently underneath him so Castiel’s more comfortable.

Castiel nods, not trusting himself to speak, and he rolls his hips forward, starting to move. Dean lets out a soft sound and grips him tighter, pushing up slowly. Castiel clenches, hunching over.

“Oh god, I _really_ missed you,” he groans out.

 

Dean laughs shortly against his chest.

“You like me just for my dick?” He asks breathlessly, slipping his hands over Cas’s back, tracing the lines of ink in his skin.

“That’s one reason I keep you around,” Cas murmurs, threading his hands through his hair.

Dean bites at his nipple in retaliation, smiling when he hears Cas’s surprised gasp as a reward. He grins in triumph and slips a hand around, hooking his arm around him, hand gripping his left shoulder.

He brushes a thumb over his name in Cas’s skin. He still can’t get over it.

He still can’t believe that Cas loves him, that they’ve been dating for two years, and it’s been nothing short of perfect. His thoughts drift, over memories, promises, and finally to what’s tucked in the corner of his suitcase—a small box with a set of rings inside—and his throat constricts.

 

Cas touches his cheek, breathless.

“Hey.”

Those sea-blue eyes find his.

“You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah,” Dean assures him, pulling himself back into the present. “Yeah…”

“Good,” Cas says, hands finding his cheeks, kissing him again.

“I love you,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

It catches him off guard—said like that, and Dean blanks a little. Cas saying it just because, not after sex, not before, not at the end of a phone call when it was expected—just slipped in, between the pages, normal and plain, like it’s something that just…is _._

But it isn’t normal. The fact that Cas likes him at all is miraculous. Cas is a miracle.

“Dude.”

 

Cas snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him out of it. “You’re spacing again.”

Dean shakes his head, and he brings his hand up to wrap around Cas’s wrist as an apology. He’s not really sure where his mind keeps going, and he doesn’t understand how he could focus on anything else when Cas is in front of him.

“Sorry, it’s just—“ He laughs shakily.

“You can’t do that, man, you gotta stop pulling this kinda crap on me.”

Cas frowns a little.

“My love is crap?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

But Cas’s eyes are wicked. He leans down, nibbling at his ear.

“I love you,” he whispers. He switches sides, biting down his neck. “I love you.”

He accentuates every ‘I love you’ with a roll of his hips, clenching around him until Dean is shaking, just along for the ride.

Cas thrusts forward on top of him, leaning his elbows against the backseat and pressing them flush.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love youuuuuuu,” he sings quietly against his cheek.

Dean snorts, smacking him lightly.

“That better not be that goddawful Natasha Bedingfield song.”

Cas laughs, resting back a little, slowing his movements. He doesn’t say anything, just fixes him with that look, breath hard and short. Dean’s hand finds his shoulder, the other on his thigh as he rolls up into him. Cas leans in, hovering over him expectantly, and Dean huffs, pulling him in for a kiss.

“I love you too, you sentimental idiot,” he murmurs, scratching lightly at his back.

Cas smiles into the kiss.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

Dean shakes his head slightly, the space between their mouths hot and close. Cas drifts a hand down his cheek, his thumb brushing over the seam of Dean’s lips, and he parts for him, slipping forward and sucking gently at his fingers. Cas’s breath hitches and gets faster, and when Dean catches sight of those eyes again, they’re dark and hungry, the ocean right before a storm.

All thoughts of being sweet and gentle go completely out the window. Dean wraps his arms around him and thrusts up hard, and Cas growls and seizes the backseat, tangling a hand in Dean’s hair as matches his pace, snarling in his ear.

“Fuck, _yes_ , Winchester, come on—“

Dean growls at him and shoves him on his back, grabbing his hips and hiking his legs up around his waist.

“Like that? You want it like that?”

Cas’s eyes are blown wide, his whole body shaking. He arches back, hands scrambling to wrap around Dean as he yanks him down and he buries his face into his neck, panting.

“Yeah, yes, Dean— _fuck_ —“

Dean hunches over him, matching his movements, their rhythm broken slightly by the awkwardness of their position, but Cas seems to like it, because he lets out a breathless moan, pressing a hand up above his head against the door, shoving his hips back into Dean’s thrusts. Dean grabs the back of his head, dipping down to see his eyes, holding his gaze hot and fast.

“You gonna come, baby?” He whispers harshly. “You gonna come for me?”

Cas growls at him, surging forward and kissing him messily.

“Yeah, wanna—“ He bites down on his lip, hard. “Gonna come for you, wanna, _fuck_ —“

Dean slips out of him and shoves him down, falling on top and grinding against Cas, gasping into his neck. Cas throws his head back and grabs his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle as he writhes beneath him, groaning out his name. Dean slots their hips together, grabbing them both and stroking hard, moving his hand over them faster and faster, until—

Dean seizes, hunching over and burying his face in Cas’s skin as he comes all over their stomachs in a choked little gasp. Cas follows him a few breathless moments later, his whole body locking and going still.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Dean tries to catch his breath, propping himself up on shaking arms. Cas is panting, bringing a hand to his head as he falls back the slick leather. Dean tumbles down on top of him. They’re messy and sweaty, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. Because they’re together again. Because Cas is lying next to him, warm and soft. Dean’s damn sure he could probably fall asleep right here.

But he does at least have to attempt to clean them up, and he does the best he can with the nearest article of clothing before settling back next to Cas.

Dean slides a hand up and down his side, scratching lightly with his fingers. Cas closes his eyes, leaning back.

Dean noses at his skin.

“Good?”

Cas nods lazily, letting a hand drift down to rest in his hair.

“Perfect.”

 

They lay there for a while, and Dean lets his fingertips dance over his skin, finally stopping at his hipbone. He wriggles down until his head is pillowed on Cas’s stomach. He presses a soft kiss to his hip.

“Nature…” Another kiss. “Does nothing…” Kiss. “In vain,” he murmurs, turning and resting his cheek against the ink script. Cas smiles idly, opening his eyes to look down at him.

Dean traces one of the larger letters. “Well…neither do I.”

Despite the soft sleepy haze settling around them, Cas snorts, tugging on his hair a little. “Wow. That was really corny.”

Dean smirks, crawling back up to his lips.

“You love it.”

Cas wraps him up and kisses him slow, one long lazy exchange of heat and tongue, just remembering each other, making up for all the time they had lost when they were apart.

Dean finally pulls back, pressing another kiss to his forehead. Cas brings a hand up to Dean’s cheek, cradling his head as they breathe against each other, just holding still.

“Never thought we’d end up here,” Dean mumbles softly.

 

He feels Cas frown more than sees it, and he shifts so he can bring his hand to Dean’s arm, stroking it softly.

“What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs.

“Dunno.”

He tucks his head into the crook of Cas’s neck, closing his eyes.

“Feel like m’gonna wake up sometimes.”

Dean has an embarrassing tendency to let stuff like that slip after sex, when they’re soaking up the afterglow and his mouth doesn’t seem to have a filter. But Cas always humors him, patiently waiting out his sappy mumbled declarations of love.

“Have to be dreaming, or something.”

Dean shifts closer to him, feeling his soft breath roll through them. “Died and went to Heaven.”

Cas laughs, slowly dragging his hand through Dean’s hair. Dean closes his eyes, smiling absently.

“Still believe that?”

Cas’s hands pause.

“What?”

Dean taps his fingers against the tattoo.

“Everything happens for a reason?”

Cas is silent, and Dean sobers a little. He knows Cas hasn’t really believed in that sort of thing for a while, but Dean still feels a weird need to reassure himself. That Cas isn’t going anywhere.

 

“I don’t know,” Cas finally admits.

 

“I don’t know if anyone ever planned for us to happen,” he says softly. “But I’m glad it did.”

Dean can’t think of anything to say to that. So instead he burrows closer into Cas and lets himself drift into a half sleep, Cas’s hands soothing him away into actual dreams.

 

Because when he wakes up, Cas will still be there.

 

x

 

Dean calls Sam on the ride home, one hand on his cell, the other on the wheel.

“Hey, Sam. Just want to let you know—“

“Yeah, Dean, I figured.”

Dean frowns. “What?”

Sam scoffs on the other end. “Dude. I know you’re not coming back to the room tonight. Please don’t tell me anymore.”

Dean smiles wickedly, flashing a brief grin at Cas before turning back to the road.

“What’s that, Cas?” He says loudly. “We’re gonna have really loud rough sex all night?”

Sam lets out an indignant disgusted sound.

“Oh, c’mon, Dean, fuck—“

“And we’re gonna do _what_? Oh, you kinky bastard—“

“I’m hanging up.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three heartfelt conversations happen in quick succession.
> 
>  
> 
> “Music is a higher revelation that all wisdom and philosophy.”
> 
> —Ludwig van Beethoven

xxx

 

_Hold on, nothing’s the same_

_Tell me why I feel this way_

_Life wouldn’t be worth living without you_

_All along I’ve been the pretender_

_But now that’s gone forever_

_Nobody’s ever loved me like you do_

_Nobody’s broken through_

 

[Hold On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21zdJEWROQc)

 

xxx

 

Dean pauses at the top of the stairwell, catching his breath.

“Do you have to live on the damn sixth floor?”

“Don’t you walk everywhere?”

“I don’t do exercise, Cas.”

“Oh. Well. If only there was only something athletic we could do.”

 

Dean grins at him, and immediately backs Cas up into the arm of the couch as soon as he gets the door open, planting his hands against the cushions. He snakes up against him until Cas rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss him, and that’s when Dean pulls back, smiling smugly.

“Music?” He whispers softly, and Cas groans.

“You tease.”

Dean pulls away and digs out his laptop, hooking it up to Cas’s speaker set.

“Play Santana,” Cas says as he heads to the bedroom.

“Ha. Funny.”

Dean scrolls through the songs, deftly skipping over Santana.

“I do need to work on my moves though,” he calls to him, smiling slightly as Cas’s voice answers him from down the hall.

“Maybe I can help you with that.”

 

Dean finally settles on a playlist and gets the music going. He hops over the back of the couch, falling back against the cushions as he waits for him to come back.

Dean scowls at Cas when he emerges from the bedroom, because he’s wearing Dean’s sweatpants, which he totally stole from him on his last visit. Dean makes a mental note to steal them back, but knows he probably won’t. Because Cas loves wearing them, and Dean is a huge fuckin’ sap. Even if he’ll never admit it out loud.

The shirt Cas is wearing is too big on him, and has seen too many washes, so it slips to the side a little, letting the edge of his tattoo peek over the collar. Dean smiles absentmindedly as he watches him shuffle about the kitchen.

Cas comes back with two beers and hands him one, sliding down next to him on the couch.

“What song is this?”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Guess.”

Castiel laughs, leaning back, propping his feet up next to Dean.

“Dean, I can never keep track of these different bands sometimes,” he says, poking him with his foot. “I know you worship your vinyl collection, but—“

“That shit is vintage, come on.”

“Sometimes you gotta take pity on the less fortunate. I don’t have the same discerning ear you do.”

Dean grumbles. “Even after all the music education I try and give you.”

Castiel scratches his head, taking another pull from his beer.

“Sorry that I just listen to whatever’s on the radio.”

Dean’s face is horrified, and you’d think Castiel had just admitted to being a serial killer instead of happening to like popular music.

“Oh no. No. I’m making you a playlist.”

He sits up, suddenly serious.

“I’m not sure if I can date someone who doesn’t know the difference between Pete Seeger and Bob Seger.”

Cas raises his hands in surrender.

“Jesus, okay. Twist my arm.”

But then Dean smiles, dropping his voice down low.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Cas. I know you think my music makes me cooooool.”

He brings his hand down to rest on Cas’s leg, tugging at the edge of the sweatpants.

“Maybe even…badass?”

Cas snorts.

“Oh, sure. You’ve got that whole ‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll’ thing going on.”

“Well. Two for three today.”

Cas pulls his patient face, and Dean knows he’s said something stupid.

Cas lifts his beer bottle, wiggling it slightly.

“Alcohol is a drug.”

Dean scoffs. “Okay, fine. Three for three. Holy trinity.”

 

Cas laughs and takes another sip. Dean grins wickedly and starts humming along, dancing his hand up Castiel’s leg.

“Couldn’t stop moving when it first took hold…”

Castiel shakes his head at him, but Dean takes the beer from his hand and puts them both on the table, slowly crawling forward.

“They were layin’ it dowwwwwn—“

Castiel laughs as Dean wiggles his hips, making a pitiful attempt at dancing, even in their tangled up position on the couch.

“Rock and roll, hoochie kooooo,” he sings softly, slipping his hands under his shirt, and Castiel chokes on his laugh, arching up. Dean continues to tickle him until Castiel is breathless—then he drags him up into his arms, crooning in his ear.

“Truck on out and spread the news…”

Dean finally lets up, giving him a quick kiss before pulling back. His cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling in the dim light of the living room, and Castiel laughs, running his fingers through his hair.

“You are a complete dork.”

Dean gets that goofy grin on his face, and Castiel can only imagine what he’s up to.

“But would you also say…I’m _your_ drug?” Dean asks, slowly pulling Castiel up and into his lap.

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Sure thing, Winchester.”

“And…” he continues, curling a hand around his waist. “I’m sex too?”

“Mmm, you’re very sexy.”

Dean starts kissing his neck, and Castiel leans back, closing his eyes.

“And I’m rock n’ roll?” He murmurs against his skin.

“Not until you get your tattoo,” he whispers back, but Dean unexpectedly stops at that, his hands stilling. Castiel frowns.

He sits back, trying to meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

Dean’s biting his lip, like he’s puzzling over something.

The song ends and slips into something softer, and Castiel knows the teasing is over.

“What’s up?” He asks, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Dean is quiet.

“Is it a confidence thing?”

Castiel sighs. He doesn’t have to ask him to clarify.

 

“No. I…”

He closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted,” he says, slipping from his awkward position on top of Dean to sit beside him on the couch.

Dean keeps a hold of his hand, squeezing it slightly.

“No, Cas, I—I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I’m sorry.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. Dean looks down.

“And if you don’t want to do it…I understand.”

Castiel looks up sharply.

“No, Dean. I do—I really do.” He struggles for words, one hand finding the loose buttons of Dean’s shirt. “It’s just…”

He runs the pad of his thumb over the top button, thinking. Then he sighs.

“I feel like you don’t know sometimes,” he starts quietly. Dean looks up sharply at that, but Castiel continues, wanting to get it out.

“It’s just—“

He bites his lip. He’s not really sure how to explain it.

“You made me realize what I wanted,” he says simply. “Dean, I only have my dream job because of you.”

Dean’s mouth parts slightly, staring at him in wonder. Castiel closes his eyes.

“And I know I can never pay you back for that,” he murmurs. “So with this, I…I’m afraid I’ll…”

He takes a deep breath.

“That I’ll let you down,” he confesses.

“Cas.”

 

Dean moves slowly, taking Castiel’s face in his hands.

“You could never do that. Never.” His smile is warm and open, that look that Castiel isn’t sure he deserves.

Dean chuckles. “Even if it turns out to be the ugliest, worst, tattoo known to man—“

“Fuck you,” Castiel says, laughing past the lump in his throat.

“I’ll still love it,” Dean says, knuckles brushing briefly across Castiel’s cheek. “Because it’s yours.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, curled into the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice cracking. Dean raises an eyebrow, and Castiel lets out a choked laugh.

He wipes at his eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry, asshole.”

Dean echoes him with a shaky laugh of his own, before pulling him in.

“Hell no.”

He runs a hand up and down Cas’s back, feeling Cas’s chest heave with the effort to keep his breath even.

“Everyone knows I’m the water sprinkler in this relationship.”

Cas snorts, burying his face in his shoulder. He lets Dean hold him for a minute, but finally pulls back, still sniffling. Dean laughs gently.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just…fighting against gravity, you know.” Cas stubbornly tips his head back, blinking profusely.

Dean rubs his shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Shit.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas pauses briefly in his mission to spare him a confused glance.

Dean shrugs. “Didn’t mean to start the soap opera in apartment 6a.”

Cas laughs at that, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah, you fucker,” he mutters. “Never a boring moment with you, is there?”

Dean just shakes his head, and Cas settles under his arm. They just sit for a while, not speaking, the music playing softly in the background.

 

Dean’s brain sparks with an idea, and his pulse kicks up a notch.

“Well, you know…” he starts slowly, and Cas glances up, giving him that familiar squint.

“I can think of something else, uh…not boring.”

Dean hops over the back of the couch and fiddles with his jacket hanging on the chair next to the door. He grabs something from the pocket, and before Cas can ask him what he’s doing, Dean straddles him, pinning him to the couch.

“Something real exciting we can do.”

Dean brings the tie from behind his back, the one he had ripped from Cas’s neck after their adventure in the Impala. Cas’s eyes flash dangerously.

Dean grins.

He wraps the tie around his wrists and presses up against Cas, dragging his eyes up to meet his.

“Giving you ideas?” He whispers.

 

Cas practically teleports him into the bedroom.

 

xxx

 

_Oh, sweet darlin'_

_You get the best of my love_

_Every night and day,_

_You get the best of my love_

 

[ Best of My Love ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCOcQVi7v_c)

 

xxx

Castiel leaves Dean all tangled up in the sheets in his bed the next morning, with a set of keys and a promise to call him when he’s closing up, so he and Sam can come in for their tattoos.

He presses a kiss to his back before he leaves.

“Don’t sleep all day,” he murmurs.

Dean just grunts and buries his face under the pillows.

 

Becky flags Castiel down the minute he walks in the shop, and he heads over to the counter.

“What’s up?”

She fiddles with a bunch of papers, talking a mile a minute.

“Two o’clock appointment just phoned and said they couldn’t make it and I told them about our cancellation policy and how it’ll be very hard to reschedule and they wanted to talk to you but I said you weren’t in yet and—“

Castiel stops her.

“Becky. It’s okay.”

He pulls around the book and jots down the client name and phone number, making a mental note to call them later.

“Thanks for handling everything.”

He smiles at her and she seems to relax. Then he heads back to his workstation and starts the day.

When he finally gets a free minute, he gets out his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

He tries Dean’s cell first, but there’s no answer. He rolls his eyes, glancing at the time. Almost noon. Of course.

 

He calls Sam next.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.”

“Cas. What’s up?”

Castiel leans against the wall, crossing his arms.

“I have a mission for you.”

Sam laughs, bright and loud on the other end.

“Okay, I’m game. What is it?”

Castiel waves briefly at Charlie as she walks past, travel mug in hand.

“You have to go to my apartment and try to drag your brother out of bed before two.” He checks his watch again. “We had a cancellation, so I can fit you guys in today. Two o’ clock.”

“Oh, wow,” Sam breathes. There’s a quick shuffle as the phone is switched to the other side. “Really?”

He sounds nervous.

Castiel nods, laughing.

“Yep. Hope you’ve mentally prepared yourself for it.”

He can imagine Sam grimacing on the other end.

“Well. We’ll see.”

 

 

 

When he hangs up he heads back toward his workstation, but Charlie’s voice stops him.

“Hey, Cassiopeia.” She jerks her head, beckoning him over. “Wanna talk to you.”

Castiel snorts, but turns, crossing his arms.

“That’s not my name,” he says snottily. She rolls her eyes.

“Fine. _Cassandra_. Come here.”

Castiel huffs, but obliges, propping an elbow up on the counter, watching Charlie shove things into her overflowing bag.

“What’s up?” He asks, as she ambitiously tries to stuff yet another sketchbook in the front pocket.

“You gonna try and get them in today?”

Castiel nods. “Yeah.”

Charlie doesn’t look at him, fighting with the zipper now, and Castiel frowns, picking at the edge of the counter.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? I don’t think it’ll take that long—I mean—it shouldn’t mess up the schedule.”

Charlie succeeds in closing the thing and waves a hurried hand.

“Oh, no, no. Totally fine.” She pushes the bag aside and fixes her eyes on Castiel.

“I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Castiel blinks.

“Me?”

He shrugs.

“Uh. I’m—I’m good. I guess.”

Charlie swivels her head, giving him a look.

“Casanova. C’mon.”

Castiel frowns.

“What?”

Charlie purses her lips, glancing over her shoulder. “Okay. Real talk.”

She looks around again, unnecessarily, seeing as there’s no one in earshot.

“I heard your little tiff when Dean first came in,” she rushes out, wincing slightly.

Castiel quickly looks down, the back of his neck growing hot.

Charlie sputters.

“Oh, dude, no—don’t be embarrassed, I just—“

She pokes him awkwardly, making him look up to meet her eyes.

“I just wanna know if you’re okay with doing this yourself. Really. And no bullshit.”

 

Castiel clasps his hands, anxiously tugging at his fingers.

“I…”

He sighs. He taps a hand against the countertop as he thinks, chewing his lip.

“I wasn’t at first. Well, I mean—I thought I wasn’t, but…”

He shakes his head.

“Shit.”

 He suddenly straightens, letting out a short nervous laugh.

“Now that’s _it’s today—it’s_ here and it’s the two of them and they’re asking _me_ for this, I just don’t know if I can—“

“Cas.”

Charlie grabs his hands, and Castiel stills, not even realizing how much he’d been flailing. Then he blinks, after realizing that she actually called him by his name.

Wow. She must really be serious.

“I wasn’t lying before,” she says gently, squeezing his hands. “You really are one of my best. You have no idea how proud I am of you.” She smiles.

Castiel just stares, speechless. Charlie. _Charlie Bradbury_ , one of the best artists out there, most respected in the state, someone he looked up to, admired, loved in his own way—

She was _proud_ of him?

Castiel stares at her numbly, and Charlie eventually laughs at his astonished expression, rubbing a soothing hand over his arm.

“Yes, Cas, I am,” she insists. “Don’t have an aneurysm.”

Castiel can’t begin to form coherent sentences.

“Charlie, I— _thank you_ —I—“

Charlie cuts off his babbling with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, yes, okay. Don’t hurt yourself.”

She tugs him around the curve of the counter, sitting him down and pulling him under her arm. Castiel folds into the touch, still reeling from Charlie’s words.

“And you’re welcome,” she says, nudging him slightly. “But you gotta use this, okay?”

She gestures at the wall, where some of Castiel’s sketches are hanging.

“You are _good_ , you completely got this, and you shouldn’t freak out about it,” she says, eyeing them fondly. She glances back at him. “Even if it is your precious Winchesters.”

Castiel snorts, dipping his head. Shit. He wasn’t going to cry again. Tearing up twice in the last 24 hours, what the hell was he? A fuckin’ fountain?

He looks up to see Charlie’s eyes misty too—and she’s suddenly busy with straightening his shirt, smoothing his collar, even though they both know it’s impeccable. It always is.

She clears her throat.

“Kick it in the ass, Cas.”

Castiel returns the smile, grinning stupidly. There’s a burst of warmth in his chest, like the glow of a candle, lighting him from the inside out.

Charlie’s hands now move to his tie, fiddling with the knot.

“Knew you were something special when I met you, kiddo.”

Castiel glances up. Her eyes are warm.

“I’m so glad that it was a digustingly busy day in that coffee shop and it was packed to the rafters with people,” she teases. “Otherwise I might have never met you.”

She finishes tightening his tie, and withdraws her hands, smiling absently.

“Me too,” Castiel murmurs.

He looks down at his shoes, breathing silently. He still felt doubt nipping at the back of his mind—but Charlie’s words are soothing him, and he can feel the fear fading away.

“Oh, come on.”

 

He looks up to see Charlie with her arms spread wide open. She scoffs impatiently.

“Just give me a damn hug.”

Castiel laughs, and does. He locks his arms around her waist and lifts her off her feet, squeezing tight. She returns it, but finally starts squirming, smacking him.

“Alright, Casablanca. Put me down.”

Castiel scowls at her the minute she’s free of his arms.

“You are so lucky nothing else in the world starts with ‘Charlie’.”

She just winks at him, grabbing her bag and hooking it over her shoulder.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she murmurs, nudging him gently in the ribs.

Castiel watches her head out to the front door, as she calls out to everyone with her usual lunchtime shout.

 

“See ya later, bitches!”

 

 

xxx

 

_I'm as cool as a body on ice_

_Hotter than a rollin' dice_

_Send you to heaven_

_Take you to hell_

 

[ Live Wire ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWijlCfZat8)

 

xxx

 

 

Dean heads back to the motel after Sam’s call, wanting to change his clothes. He would have stolen some from Cas, but he was a tiny bit shorter than him (a fact Dean _never_ lets him forget), and he did bring a suitcase for a reason. He scowls once he sees that Sam’s put all of their clothes away. Because of course, his little brother was that kind of moose to put all his shit into _drawers_ in a goddamn motel room, even when they’re barely staying a week, which means Sam probably went through all of his stuff, and—

Fuck. Sam went through all his stuff.

 

Said little brother comes out of the bathroom, obviously alerted to Dean’s return, and just crosses his arms, staring at him.

“Dean.”

 

Dean starts to sweat.

“Um.” He says shortly. “Hi.”

Sam shifts his weight a little, fixing him with that look.

“Anything you wanna tell me about?” He asks, almost as if Dean’s a 16-year old who got caught with their first cigarette.

Dean’s eyes fall on the bedside table, which has got the telltale box on it, winking traitorously in the light. His brain scrambles, but nothing comes out. He’s ready to spill out explanations when he hears Sam laugh, his shoulders shaking a little, unable to keep it back.

Wait, what.

“What?” Dean says aloud, blinking stupidly at him.

Sam practically bursts, sweeping him into his ridiculous gigantor hug, and Dean can barely breathe.

“Jesus, Dean—“

Sam locks him up tight, gushing.

“Going to propose and not tell me a damn thing about it? God—”

Dean squirms out of his grip, hastily readjusting his clothes.

“Okay, calm down, Samantha,” he scowls, trying to keep his hard face locked on. But Sam is beaming at him, and Dean feels himself really struggling to stand up against that stupid fucking ray of sunshine thing his brother is doing.

“Seriously. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what? Come on, Dean—I’m gonna finally get a brother-in-law and you weren’t even going to tell me—“

“I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it, alright? Jeez—“

“Dude, if I let you keep ‘not making a big deal’ out of things, you and Cas would still be pretending that you’re ‘just friends.’”

Dean glares indignantly at him, opening his mouth to make some sort of retort, but finds he can’t. Because fucking Sam is right. Of course he’s right.

Because, okay fine, sometimes Dean can be an oblivious asshole, and he knows Cas is just as obtuse sometimes. Oh, he knows.

He owes Sam so fuckin’ much. If it wasn’t for him, Dean might never had pulled his head out of his ass long enough to see what was right in front of him.

Fuck. Of course he should have told Sam.

“Sorry, Sammy, I—“

He shrugs, twisting his fingers together.

“Just kinda scary, y’know?” He says, letting out a short nervous laugh. “I mean, don’t know what he’s gonna say. Keep imagining all these stupid scenarios in my head, Right? Like he laughs in my face, or bolts off into the sunset for all I know—“

“Dean. C’mon.”

Dean stops his ramble and glances up guiltily. Sam’s looking at him with that puppy dog face again, tinged with a hint of _My brother’s an idiot._

“Seriously. It took me all of about five minutes when I first visited to see how far gone you were on each other. God, it was almost painful to watch—“

“Sammy, you are taller than me, but I swear I will still kick your ass.”

“And honestly—“ Sam says firmly, “If you didn’t stop chickening out and just ask in the next year, I probably would have done it for you.”

Dean scowls at him.

“You’re a fucking moron.”

Sam shrugs.

“So are you.”

Dean makes a move towards the table, but Sam blocks him, grinning widely. Dean glares at him.

“Don’t make me put you in a headlock.”

“Think you can manage it?”

“Oh, I think so, I am the older brother—“

“You haven’t beaten me in a fight since sixth grade—“

“Then what?” Dean asks grumpily. “What do I have to do to get my damn rings and get you off my back?”

Sam grins. He spreads his arms. Dean groans.

“Really?”

Sam beckons a little, watching him patiently. “Come on.”

Dean sighs loudly, but Sam doesn’t back down. Dean finally rolls his eyes and relents, leaning in. He hugs Sam, and Sam doesn’t let him go for about five damn minutes.

“Fair warning, Sammy,” he says gruffly, once his brother lets him breathe again. “I’m not planning on doing it _soon_ , I just…wanna have them. You know. For when I’m ready.”

“I get it.”

Sam gets his phone out and scrolls through his pictures, turning to show Dean a picture of a beautiful diamond ring.

“That’s the one I plan on buying for Jess. I mean, as soon as I can afford it.”

Dean blinks at the picture in surprise. He feels something that feels suspiciously like tears prick in the corners of his eyes, so he blinks furiously, letting out a brief laugh.

“Damn.”

Sam smiles shyly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Dean stares at his shoes, scuffing at the cheap carpet of the motel room.

“Guess we’re really doing it, huh?”

Sam frowns, waiting for him to continue. Dean shrugs.

“You know. Moving on up, jobs, being adults…”

Sam laughs.

 “Hey, unlike my successful big brother, I don’t have a job yet.”

Dean snatches the box off the bedside table, turning it over in his fingers.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna be able to bail my ass out of jail when you’re a hotshot lawyer.”

“I think I’ll make your _husband_ do that.”

Dean looks up from his mission of hiding the box in his suitcase again, pulling a face at him.

“Ugh. Don’t say husband. It’s weird.”

 

 

Dean digs the keys out of his pocket and they head to the Impala, sliding into the front seat. Sam starts dicking with the radio, and Dean slaps his hands away, which puts Sam into immediate ‘Time to fuck with Dean’ mode.

 

“Can’t wait for the wedding. You thinking chrysanthemums for the centerpiece?”

Dean ignores him, sliding in his The Who cassette.

“Can I be best man?”

Dean rolls his eyes, pulling out into the road.

“And what are you going to do? Flip a coin to figure out whose name you keep?”

Dean elbows him.

“Fuck you, I like mine.”

“Hmm, I dunno. Dean Novak _does_ have a certain ‘ring’ to it…”

“Shut up, Sam.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Winchesters finally get tatted.
> 
> "You are the music while the music lasts."
> 
> —T.S. Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know minimally about the tattooing process and mostly did a lot of googling. (If I got anything glaringly wrong, feel free to let me know!)

xxx

 

_Me and my brother were talking to each other_

_‘Bout what makes a man a man_

_Was it brain or brawn, or the month you were born_

_We just couldn’t understand_

 

[Tattoo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KKvg2IBjbBY)

 

xxx

 

Castiel is heading back to the parlor, coming from lunch, when he sees the Impala in the parking lot. He swallows.

His stupid brain kicks into overdrive and is suddenly filled with worst-case scenarios. His hand could slip. Maybe Dean would change his mind halfway through. Maybe a freak earthquake would start suddenly and there’d be nothing he could do and then there’d be a whole bunch of inky scribbles on Dean’s skin forever—

A car horn blares at him and Castiel leaps out of the way, cursing himself for trying to jaywalk with his heads still in the clouds.

_You need to concentrate, Castiel._

He pushes through the front door, briefly greeting Becky, who seems to be transfixed by something across the room. Castiel looks over to see Sam leaning against the wall, and Charlie and Dean talking animatedly in the corner. Castiel steels himself, taking a deep breath.

He exhales slowly and makes his way over, flashing a quick smile at Sam. He returns it, glancing over at Charlie and Dean, but they’re too absorbed in conversation to notice the new arrival.

Castiel heads to the back to toss his stuff on his desk, but not before he distinctly hears ‘Princess Leia’ and ‘slave bikini’. He rolls his eyes.

 

x

 

Castiel places the two identical sheets of transfer paper on his table, then turns to face the brothers.

“Alright.” He gestures. “Who’s first?”

Dean pushes Sam forward immediately.

“Sammy,” he blurts, and Sam shoots him a murderous glance. “He’s the guinea pig.”

Sam grumbles, fidgeting with his sleeve.

“Great.” He grimaces. “Nice to hear you’ve got so much faith in Cas.”

Castiel chuckles, sitting down in his chair.

“Nah. Dean’s just a wimp,” he says lightly, giving him a wink.

Dean scowls.

“Fuck you, Novak.”

 

After much bickering and nasty glares, Sam finally settles in the chair, trepidation on his face. He anxiously fiddles with his hair, tucking it behind his ears. Dean is wandering back and forth aimlessly, pretending to be interested in the pictures on the walls.

Castiel washes his hands, glancing over his shoulder.

“Guys.” He straightens, wiping his hands on a towel. “You gotta relax.”

_Says the guy who’s internally freaking out._

Castiel breathes out. It’s okay. Calm. Focus.

He stands up straight, turning around. Dean has gone white, and he’s twitching again. The part of Castiel that is still desperately trying to remain professional struggles against every instinct to kiss away the worry on his face.

He settles for words instead.

“The chest is not nearly the most sensitive area. The pain factor will be a lot less,” he lies smoothly.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Sam squeaks out.

Castiel allows himself a small grin as he walks over to the chair, bottle in hand. He takes a seat and sets the antiseptic on the counter, turning to face him.

“Have you eaten today?”

Sam snaps out of his haze briefly to look at him.

“What?”

Castiel starts pulling supplies out.

“Just checking. I don’t tattoo people on an empty stomach.”

Sam nods, swallowing.

“Yeah, uh—yeah. Me and Dean went to lunch before this.”

Dean wrings his hands.

“And that was probably a really fuckin’ bad idea, because I seriously think I’m going to throw up right now.”

Castiel gives him a look, to tell him to cut out the teasing, but Dean looks like he’s seriously freaking out. Castiel sighs, beckoning him over.

Dean hesitates, but approaches, and Castiel tugs at the edge of his shirt, whispering in his ear.

“Stay close if it helps, okay?” He presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Just don’t distract me.”

Dean nods breathlessly, hand finding his back. Castiel briefly squeezes his arm before turning back to his brother, scooting forward.

Sam has already stripped himself of his shirt, waiting impatiently as Castiel starts prepping the area, cleaning and disinfecting it, briefly running a razor over his skin. It’s not that big of a tattoo, and not nearly as difficult as some of the ones he’s done—

But for some reason, Castiel’s stomach is in knots. He’s way more nervous for this than he’s ever been.

Castiel takes a deep breath.

He can do this. He will do this.

 

Castiel straightens and picks up the paper. He transfers the design to Sam’s skin and pulls back, snapping on a pair of gloves before reaching for the tattoo machine, sliding in the needle. Dean’s hand never leaves his back.

Castiel turns to Sam.

“You ready?”

Sam takes a deep breath.

“Now or never,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles slightly. “Okay. I’m going to start.”

Sam closes his eyes, nodding. Castiel holds his breath and leans forward, and then they begin.

 

Castiel is laser-focused on his work, that sort of trance he sinks into whenever he’s tattooing someone, but he reminds himself to pull back occasionally, keeping tabs on the both of them.

Sam does pretty well, and only flinches a couple times. Dean just watches the whole thing in a sort of horrified fascination.

Castiel finishes the preliminary outline and wipes away the blood and ink, trying to be as gentle as he can. He squints and shifts forward, focusing on the line of one of the rays of the pentagram, making sure the tracing is just right.

Sam takes a couple deep breaths, staring at the ceiling.

All three of them are mostly silent as Castiel works, but he can tell Dean is restless. Looks like watching Sam has done nothing to soothe his doubts, even with the contact Castiel is trying to give him.

Dean finally surrenders and stalks away, doing a nervous circuit around the tiny back room.

Sam glares at him for a minute before he snaps.

 

“Stop doing that, you’re freaking me out.”

Dean whirls on him, glaring indignantly.

“ _You’re_ freaking out—“

“I’m the one getting the damn tattoo right now.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one that has to fuckin’ watch you—“

“Not my fault you’re a goddamn wimp—“

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it—“

“Fuck off, jerk—“

“Both of you, shut it.” Castiel says mildly. They both fall silent, glaring at him.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, trying to focus.

“Let’s just accept the fact you’re both freaking out, and move on.”

Dean huffs loudly, but Castiel ignores him, turning back to Sam, who has shut his eyes, grimacing. He wipes away some excess ink and pats Sam’s arm reassuringly.

“I’m almost done, okay? Just a few more minutes.”

Sam sighs hearing that, and leans back, breathing hard through his nose. Castiel has to struggle not to laugh, the ridiculousness of it all melting his tension away.

Who’d have thought—the two surly Winchesters, reduced to complete messes by a tiny little needle. It was almost funny.

Warriors as they seemed to be, their emotions were all over the place. Dean, of course, Castiel had kind of expected to freak out like this. He overanalyzed everything, he let his thoughts whirl and get away from him—and probably letting Sam go first had done nothing to settle his nerves.

Castiel suddenly regrets the time he vividly described the pain of getting a tattoo to Dean.

 

 

He finishes the fill on the final ray of the pentagram and leans back, sighing. He sets down the machine and cleans Sam’s skin one more time, smiling at his work.

“Worst part’s over, man,” he says, when he sees Sam looking at him anxiously. He pats him on the shoulder. “You’re done.”

Sam practically melts with relief, his whole body loosening. “Oh, thank god.”

Castiel laughs a little, tugging off his gloves.

“That’s a nice compliment,” he says, winking. Dean comes up behind him, squeezing his shoulder.

 

Castiel rolls over to the counter and digs for supplies, then he comes back, starting to patch up the raw, reddened skin, telling Sam about proper aftercare.

“So, you’re gonna want to keep that on for a couple of hours, and avoid getting it wet,” he says, fixing the bandage into place. “And if it starts swelling or goes red, you’ll probably want an icepack, which can also help with the pain—“

Dean groans, sinking down heavily on the table.

“Fuck, Cas. You’re freaking me out.”

Castiel gives him a brief look, before turning back to Sam.

“I have to tell him how to take care of it.”

Dean throws up his hands. “But can’t you leave all that shit for after? I mean, at least ‘til I’m done?”

Castiel laughs, but relents, reaching out to take Dean’s hand. He squeezes it lightly, and Dean seems to calm a bit, closing his eyes. He lets Castiel finish up with Sam and shoo him over to the chair in the corner, but when Castiel turns back to him, Dean’s jaw is tight, his face panicked. Castiel rubs his arm soothingly, turning back to set up his workstation again, getting everything sanitized and ready.

Sam settles back to watch, a slight grimace on his face as he taps his fingers against the bandage on his chest. He sits in the chair by the doorway, leaning back as Castiel prepares Dean for the same treatment. Dean deliberately ignores him throughout the process, instead focusing on the door of the shop.

 

“Don’t look now, Sammy, but the girl behind the counter hasn’t stopped ogling you in about five minutes.”

Dean’s trying to keep his voice light, but Castiel can since the anxiety underneath. He glances up briefly, following Dean’s gaze, and laughs.

“That’s Becky.”

Sam peeks over his shoulder, accidentally meeting her eyes. Her face blanks and she immediately ducks behind the counter, cheeks burning red. Sam immediately turns back around, his face flaming too.

“You should ask her out, dude,” Dean teases. Sam flips him off.

Castiel walks over, giving Dean a quick touch on the cheek.

“Alright, focus on me, idiot. You ready?”

Dean doesn’t answer him. He just slides his hands back and forth over the tops of his thighs, chewing at his lip.

 

Castiel settles in his chair, taking a deep breath.

A fresh pair of gloves, a fresh needle, fresh ink. It’s the same exact design, same procedure—but this time it’s strikingly different.

 

Because this was Dean. Dean. Someone who he trusted with his life, someone Castiel had always seen as being his rock, his strength, perfect just the way he is—but here Castiel was. Changing him. Altering him in a way he could never take back. Even if…even if they had promised each other, even if Castiel was so sure, so damn sure that he would never want—never _need_ anyone else—there was always that small doubt in the back of his mind, always the fear that this wasn’t as permanent as he thought it was.

 

But this was. This tattoo was permanent. Whether or not Castiel would be around.

 

Castiel swallows past the dryness in his throat, feeling almost dirty as he brushes his hands over Dean’s skin with reverent adoration, taking more care than he had with any other person before him. He’s about to start up the machine in his hand, but his throat abruptly clenches, and he can’t bring himself to continue.

Castiel sits there, frozen, until Dean’s hand reaches out, finding his own.

He lays soft fingers on top of his, meeting his eyes.

“Ready, Cas,” he whispers.

Castiel holds his breath. He isn’t sure he’s ready.

Dean takes his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across his skin, whispering to him reassuringly, soft words that no one else was meant to hear.

Castiel appreciates it, and nods, pushing himself forward, so he can start. But he can’t resist one last check.

“You good?”

Dean’s eyes are closed, but his hand finds his neck and he nods, pulling him in.

Castiel obliges, kissing him once, soft, smiling against his skin.

“I’m gonna start, okay?”

Dean breathes deep, stroking his thumb over Castiel’s cheek. “Okay.”

He kisses him again, smiling shyly.

“I love you,” Dean adds, trying to smile through the fear. Behind them, Sam groans.

“Guys, really…”

 

“Shut up, Sam,” they say in unison.

 

 

 

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, and then he begins.

He’s completely quiet as he works, and Sam doesn’t dare disturb the silence either. Dean’s hand makes its way to Castiel’s thigh, resting lightly against his skin. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time, face screwed up in concentration, unconsciously squeezing Castiel’s leg when the pain becomes a little too much. Castiel tries to reassure him periodically, touching him as much as he can.

_Done with the outline, gonna start on the shading, almost done with the first half, almost done_

Those soft encouragements give him strength, and Dean eventually starts to relax, breathing deep.

Castiel closes his eyes and steels himself, pulling back into his professional mindset, focusing on the shape the pattern. But he can’t ignore the feeling of Dean’s hand on his leg, his soft breaths in his ear as he works.

Castiel brushes away a little excess ink, smiling slightly.

“Looks good, Winchester,” he murmurs. He can feel Dean let go, the tension visibly deflating out of him, and Castiel smiles.

“I’m almost done,” he says gently. “Okay?”

Dean nods slightly. “Okay.”

Castiel takes care in finishing up the rest of it, gently stroking his hand against Dean’s skin, touching up the edges. It seems like it’s been a million years before he sits back, tugging off his gloves.

 

“Okay,” he breathes. “You’re done.”

 

Dean sits up gingerly, glancing briefly towards the mirror. Castiel holds his breath.

“Is it okay?” he blurts, fiddling with the plastic. “I mean, I hope it’s what you wanted, but if you want me to tweak it—“

Dean leans forward, stopping his words with a kiss.

“It’s perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Music is well said to be the speech of angels."  
> —Thomas Carlyle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd just finish this up with the last two chapters, so enjoy! And thanks for reading!

xxx

 

_Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy_

_Out in the backseat of my '60 Chevy_

_Workin' on mysteries without any clues_

_Workin' on our night moves_

 

[ Night Moves ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mRFWQoXq4c)

 

xxx 

 

Dean’s lying on his back, being a complete brat.

 

Castiel pokes him with his foot.

“Quick picking at that.”

Dean huffs and stops fiddling with the edge of the bandage, grabbing the ice pack and placing it on his chest.

“Ugh.”

“Oh, stop whining.”

 

Dean tries to jostle him, but Castiel avoids it, ignoring him. Dean huffs, his other hand coming to circle around Castiel’s ankle.

Castiel leans back against the headboard, focused on a design for a client. He really should have finished it earlier, so that he could have it ready for their meeting tomorrow, but the righteous Winchester brothers had something to say about that.

Honestly, it was pretty unprofessional, but the sentimentalist inside him hadn’t cared. He could sacrifice a few hours of sleep for Dean. 

But right now, he’s definitely threatening to kill Castiel’s buzz.

 

Dean shifts a little, whining loudly.

“It _hurts_.”

“I did dig a needle into your skin, you know.”

“Caaaaassss,” he moans. “Take care of me.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “In a minute.”

Dean seems to accept that Castiel is going to ignore him, and sighs dramatically, looking back up at the ceiling. He lies still for a minute, but then he tilts his head and shifts closer, and Castiel knows he’s up to something.

Dean sort of wriggles from his horizontal position on the bed until he’s under the crook of Castiel’s legs. He tugs at the edge of his boxers, but Castiel doesn’t humor him. He scrunches up his brow, pretending to focus on one particular area of shading.

But still, a slight smile pulls at his lips as Dean continues to brush his hand over his leg.

His fingers are soft, delicate, dancing up and over Castiel’s knee and around the back, coming to a still as he finds the back of his thigh.

Dean taps his fingers against the skin.

“This is new.”

Castiel shifts a little, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah.”

 

He had got it only a couple of months before, and Charlie herself had done it. It was one of his own designs, and he was really proud of how it turned out. First experimentation with color, too.

Dean drags a finger over the ink in his skin, trying to see it right side up, which leads to him crooking his neck in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

“I didn’t see it before,” Dean says idly, and Castiel laughs.

“Yeah, I think we were a little preoccupied,” he quips, smiling down at him. Dean chuckles, shaking his head.

“You didn’t tell me about it,” Dean chastises gently.

Castiel shrugs, shifting the paper in his hands, touching up one of the corners.

“I dunno. I feel weird about calling you every time I change something.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

Dean tugs at his leg. “Because I love it.”

 

Castiel can’t fight back the smile this time. Dean pulls his leg towards him, kissing his skin.

“You’re always different,” he murmurs, mouthing at the line of his thigh. “Every time I see you, you’re always new.”

Dean’s teeth gently scrape against his skin and Castiel gives up, letting his sketchbook slide away from his hands.

Dean soothes his skin with gentle kisses. “I love learning you, each time.”

“Okay, now who’s being sentimental?”

Dean glances up and catches his eyes, grinning. Castiel smiles too, but then abruptly sits up, pulling Dean around to face him.

He refuses to let him take his hand off the ice pack and Dean laughs, but allows Castiel to push him back and settle in between his legs.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, grinning at him.

“Taking care of you,” he responds slyly.

 

Castiel shifts forward and slips a soft hand underneath him, lowering his head to mouth at his clothes. Dean groans and tries to shove them away, but Castiel grabs his hands, smiling slightly. He continues to tease him, pushing up Dean’s shirt just a little to kiss his hipbone.

“Cas…” Dean starts, huffing out an indignant breath. Castiel smiles and slowly crawls forward to give him a soft, innocent kiss.

“Patience,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the point of his chin, before trailing his way back down. Dean bites his lip, falling into a stubborn silence. But his other hand is balled in the sheets, body betraying him as Castiel moves down, hooking his fingers into the band of his sweatpants. Castiel pulls them down in one swift motion and wastes no time, one hand quickly on his cock.

Dean’s hips jerk up.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Castiel grins, one arm curling around his leg as his hand works at his dick, stroking gently as he mouths up the skin of his thigh. Dean drops his head back, legs already trembling.

Castiel squeezes his hand and Dean’s voice is lost in a soft groan, hissing as Castiel returns to slower strokes, the slick of pre-come making the slide easier. Dean thrusts his hips up, trying to get more friction, but Castiel quickly pins him, scraping his teeth against his leg.

“Ahh, ahh,” he scolds. “Wait.”

Dean wanders his hand down ‘til it finds Castiel’s head, and when he finds it, he promptly smacks his temple.

“You fucker,” he mumbles.

 

Castiel grins and grabs his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his fingers.

Dean opens his mouth to curse him again, but Castiel nips quickly at his thigh, and Dean has trouble speaking after that. Castiel teases him relentlessly, dancing his fingers over the crease of Dean’s pelvis, drifting over his stomach and through the fine hair there, deftly avoiding the places he knows Dean would really like him to be touching. Dean gets increasingly more frustrated, and finally he lets out a strained moan.

“Cas. I am going to murder you.”

Castiel allows himself a small triumphant smile before he yanks Dean’s hips close, licking a long stripe up his cock. Dean jerks back, sucking in a gasp.

“I got you,” Castiel murmurs, before closing his mouth around him, working down, slowly going further, using his tongue and sucking gently until Dean is shaking beneath him.

Castiel plants his hands on his thighs, rocking forward as Dean’s other hand finds his hair, curling into the strands and tugging gently.

“Cas… _fuck_.”

Castiel pulls back, teasing him with delicate little licks and touches, pressing kisses all over, to his skin, his thighs, before sliding back up and sucking him down again, groaning softly when Dean’s hand pulls just a little too hard.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just like that.”

Dean huffs out a sort of triumphant laugh that quickly turns into a groan as Castiel retaliates, mouthing down his cock again. Dean continues to tug on his hair, just hard enough to hurt good. Castiel tightens his lips, and Dean cants his hips up—at the last second he remembers to relax and just sinks deeper—making Dean kick his legs out, his words now just a jumble of curses and groans mixed up with something that sounds like his name.

Things like _yes_ and _god, Cas,_ and _fuck, fuck you, holy shit, shit—_

A slight tightening of the hand on his hair is all the warning he gets—and then Dean is coming with a choked little cry, jerking up then stilling, his whole body going loose.

Castiel slowly pulls off him, wiping his lips. Dean lifts his head dazedly.

“You asshole.”

 

Castiel smirks.

“Did I distract you?”

Dean sinks his head back, finding Castiel’s hands and tugging him forward.

“You’re very distracting.”

Castiel crawls up into his arms, avoiding the bandage on his chest, and Dean wraps him up, holding him close in his sleepy, post-orgasmic haze.

“Are you good—I mean—“

His hands wander vaguely downwards, but Castiel takes them, kissing his knuckles.

“I’m okay. Just go to sleep.”

Dean murmurs something unintelligible and obliges him, sinking into his arms and closing his eyes. The physical and emotional exhaustion of the day finally get to him, and he’s asleep within minutes. Castiel sighs, losing himself in his warmth.

 

He had missed this.

 

 x

“Did you listen to it yet?”

“Um…yes?”

“Dammit, Cas—you gotta meet me halfway, here.”

“I’m _busy_. Just because you came to visit doesn’t mean I can skip out on work. The world does not stop for you, Dean Winchester.”

“Ughhhhh—“

“And I don’t know why you gave it to me on this thing. You know what Gabriel did when he saw it? Laughed his head off. Pretty sure he hasn’t stopped laughing since.”

“And since when do you care what he thinks?”

“Also this is a ridiculously garish shade of pink. And I _know_ you’ve heard of iPods, I don’t know what the hell kinda brand this is—”

“C’mon. I’m trying to…uh, what did you say…? Ohhhh, right, ‘Expand your horizons’. And no, don’t give me that look.”

“You can’t use my own argument against me, that’s cheating.”

“I’m not gonna let you listen to today’s modern crap.”

“Well, aren’t you pretentious.”

“Cas, just listen to the damn playlist.”

 

x 

 

Dean said something about wanting to visit some of his old friends who were still hanging around town, so Castiel took Sam out for the day, showing him all the landmarks (what little there were) on campus.

They even go to the University’s free art museum, which Castiel is over the moon about, because no one, especially not Dean, ever wanted to go with him. But Sam enthusiastically agreed, and now they were trawling through the bright hallways, peering at the frames on the wall, occasionally commenting on their favorites. Castiel is drawn to some of the more abstract pieces, noting especially the use of color. He absentmindedly bites at his thumb, wondering if he should come back and try a few sketches.

 

Sam pauses in front of a portrait of some obscure nobleman, decked in jewels from head to toe.

Castiel sees Sam glance at him from the corner of his eye.

“Whad’ya think, Cas? You think you could pull that look off?”

He snorts. “What?”

“The bling, dude.”

Castiel tilts his head, eyeing the portrait. It was extremely gaudy, even for that era.

“Don’t think it’s really my style.”

“No? You not a jewelry guy?”

Castiel squints a little. Odd question.

“Not really. Well,” he acquiesces. “I guess I’ve got this.”

He points at the ring in his upper ear, the one he got back in high school. It was a phase.

He probably should take it out. But there was a certain someone who really liked tugging on it with his teeth, which may or may not be a factor for Castiel conveniently forgetting to remove it.

Castiel brushes off the weirdness. Maybe he was asking because Dean was. Well, sort of—Dean insisted the amulet he wore around his neck was _not_ _a necklace Cas, ‘cause necklaces are stupid,_ but in Castiel’s opinion, it definitely qualifies.

 

Sam rolls back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets.

“Really? Wouldn’t consider something small, maybe?” He asks slyly, still innocently admiring the painting.

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Like what?”

Sam shrugs, deliberately taking his time.

“Oh, I don’t know…” He looks upward, chewing at his lip.  
“Maybe a…ring?”

Castiel frowns at him. Sam is smirking.

“Um.”

Castiel shrugs.

“I suppose.”

Sam looks him up and down.

“Hmm.”

He heads off down the hall, strolling innocently towards the next exhibit.

 

“Just wondering!”

 

´

 

They’re just finishing up with lunch when Dean calls him, and Castiel answers, smiling.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Cas.”

He sounds excited. Castiel laughs.

“What’s up?”

“Can you meet me back at your apartment?”

“I’m with Sam—“

“Don’t bring Sam.”

Castiel tries not to grin. Dean Winchester, he swears to god—

He turns away a little, and Sam has the decency to pretend he can’t hear, staring out the window.

“You are insatiable.”

“Come on, man, don’t pull that thesaurus crap on me.”

Castiel laughs. “Twenty minutes?”

“Okay, see you then.”

 

xxx

 

_I've been holding out so long_

_I've been sleeping all alone_

_Lord, I miss you_

 

[Miss You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hic-dnps6MU&feature=kp)

 

xxx

“I lied to you, I’m sorry.”

 

It’s the first thing Dean says when he walks in, so yeah, he’s a little taken aback.

“What?” Cas stutters, his bag still slung over his shoulder, an almost comically worried expression on his face.

Dean steps forward, holding out his hands. Cas is taking in Dean’s ridiculous white-collar outfit, eyes narrowed, hair adorably disheveled from the hat that Dean bought him last Christmas, which he really bought as a joke, because he thought Cas wouldn’t wear it.

“I didn’t go visit Ash. I had a job interview.”

Cas’s face blanks.

“Job interview—what—?”

Dean takes his hands and tugs him forward, speaking rapid-fire, trying to get it out before Cas gets the chance to cut him off.

“I’ve been talking with these guys for a while, but they wanted to see me once, you know, in person, and I went in today and they offered me a position and it’s only a thirty minute drive from here—“

He stops to take a breath, desperately clinging at Cas’s hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I kinda wanted it to be a surprise, but fuck, I know how you handle surprises, and I mean, only if it’s okay with you, because I don’t want to fuckin’ do this long distance thing anymore Cas, it sucks big time, and I—“

Cas grabs his face and promptly stops his mess of a speech, the kiss almost pushing him over backwards onto the couch.

 

Dean nearly falls over, trying to force out words.

“Does this mean you’re—“

Dean gasps in between kisses, hands fumbling to wrap around Cas’s waist, pulling him in.

“Does this mean it’s okay—“

“Dean, seriously, with the talking all the time, just fucking kiss me—“

 

Cas falls back on top of him, meeting him with an enthusiastic flurry of hands and lips and tongue that Dean can barely keep it together. Fireworks are exploding inside his heart, his blood running hot with heat and electricity—Cas’s happiness exploding and combusting against his own.

Dean can barely bring himself to break away from Cas long enough to get words out.

“You sure—“

Cas shoves him back, a little too forceful, and they accidentally tumble to the floor, laughing and collapsing in a heap of arms and legs.

“Y-you sure you want to live with me?” He asks breathlessly, unable to keep back his laughter as Cas rolls over on top of him, pushing Dean to the floor.

Cas laughs, falling into the joke, replaying that conversation they had all those years ago.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, dragging his hands through Dean’s hair as he pushes himself up to straddle him more fully, rolling against the shitty carpet.

“I’m annoying,” Dean says, laughing as Cas shoves him back, and they sit up, tugging at each other’s hands.

Cas pushes him against the side of the couch.

“True,” he whispers, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m messy,” Dean murmurs, softer now.

“I don’t care.”

Dean breathes in deep, closing his eyes as Cas just holds him.

“I sing too loud in the shower,” he mumbles.

“I’ll sing with you,” Cas whispers, his hand moving soft and gentle over his back.

Dean swallows heavily.

“Can’t load a dishwasher to save my life.”

Cas pulls back, holding his face in his hands.

“And I love that about you,” he murmurs, kissing him again.

 

Cas kisses his face, his cheeks, every part of him. Dean is shaking slightly, unable to fight against it—he grins stupidly, clinging to Cas, his heart threatening to burst.

“So it’s—“

He breaks off as Cas kisses him again. “So it’s okay—“

Cas rolls his eyes, dipping in close.

“Yes, it’s _okay_ ,” he growls, lacing their fingers together. “Fuck—it’s so okay.”

 

They get lost in each other again, and Dean doesn’t know how long they lay there, falling back on the floor, words lost in between the spaces of deep kisses and warm sighs.

Eventually, Cas seems to really understand what just happened, and he wrenches himself up, a shock of ecstatic laughter escaping him.

“You’re moving in,” he says, staring at him in awe. Dean can’t hold back his smile.

“Yeah. I’m moving in.”

 

He kisses him, kisses him and kisses him.

“Fuck, I’m moving in—“

 

 

They don’t manage to leave the apartment for several hours, but after six missed calls and three angry voicemails from Sam, they agree they should probably try to drag themselves out of bed.

 

 

x

Cas rolls over on the couch.

“Very nice.”

Dean grins, shelving the last of his albums.

“Told you you’d like it.”

He folds up the flaps on the last box, looking around their apartment.

Theirs.

 

“I think that’s the last one,” Dean says proudly, looking around.

Cas frowns, looking at the pink mp3 player.

“No, there’s one more.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. Cas looks up distractedly.

“Oh. You meant boxes.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I meant boxes.”

Cas smiles lazily, and Dean returns it, before stepping forward and pulling the headphones away from his ear.

“Hey!”

“I wanna listen too.”

He puts it on speaker, and sinks next to Cas on the couch, rolling into him. Cas laughs and opens his arms, letting Dean sink into them, closing his eyes.

 

xxx

 

_Never opened myself this way_

_Life is ours, we live it our way_

_All these words I don't just say_

_And nothing else matters_

 

[Nothing Else Matters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tAGnKpE4NCI)

 

xxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Metallica? Really?”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

 


End file.
